Stiles has a rough day
by Moppipoika
Summary: Stiles gets in trouble, and is saved by who other than our favorite hunter brothers - the Winchesters. Winchester and the pack don't obviously get along very well, but can they put their hatred towards each other aside so they can solve the case and save the missing teenager?
1. This is gonna sting a little

It was already dark when Stiles left Scott's place. He had completely forgotten about his Jeep being broken, meaning he had to walk home, so he hadn't even thought that leaving a bit earlier could be a good idea. It wasn't a long walk, but it still was a walk. He slipped his phone into his pocket with a sigh after informing his dad about leaving Scott's. He hadn't even bothered to ask for a ride after getting a laugh and a 'not my fault your car's broken' as an answer the other night.

The night was a bit chilly after an extremely hot day, but he could still easily walk with just a t-shirt on, his flannel tied around his waist. He was almost sweating from only walking, so it was quite strange to realize he was constantly shivering from cold. He could see his breath with every exhale.

A quiet rustle came from behind, and Stiles quickly turned on his heels to see where it came from. He stared into the dark night, blinking in confusion, trying to see what could've caused the noise. After a long moment of looking around, he finally decided it had been nothing; just the wind or some animal in the bushes.

He was almost praying for it to really be only his imagination doing him tricks; they had just survived from a crazy weekend of partying, and he was exhausted. It had been extremely hard for him because apparently, werewolves couldn't get drunk, and they hadn't known it before the weekend. So, they had ended up downing more alcohol with Scott than all the other teens had downed altogether, which had, of course, left Stiles with a killer hangover and Scott with nothing.

But Stiles heard the voice again and turned on his heels as quick as he could. This time he managed to see a dark silhouette just before it disappeared behind the trees. With a sharp breath, Stiles took a step back, his eyes wildly scanning the scene.

"It's nothing, Stiles," he mumbled to himself with a not so convincing voice. But before he even had the chance to turn around again, he saw the silhouette again. "Well," he took another few steps back, "maybe it's something."

With shaking hands Stiles dug out his phone and dialed Scott's number, his fingers already stiff from cold. As he raised the phone to his ear, he rapidly turned on his heels to continue his way home; he needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

When he got no answer from Scott, Stiles lowered his phone to end the call so he could dial again. "Please answer," he muttered to his phone, "I know you're probably doing something fun with Allison, but this is kinda important!"

When he raised his phone to his ear again, he heard nothing. The device in his hand was dead silent. With a confused frown, Stiles lowered the phone again. It seemed normal, but for some reason, he was unable to call Scott again. And from all the things he had lived through by now, it couldn't mean anything good when a phone suddenly stopped working.

Heavy steps came from behind, making Stiles walk faster. He glanced over his shoulder to see who, or what, it was coming after him. Seeing absolutely nothing managed to only make him feel uneasier and more anxious.

All he could think of, was why him? Of all the supernatural creatures and hunters, he had to be the one to get into a situation like this. It wasn't fair, and no matter how he thought about it, he couldn't understand how it was even possible. Because it was always him, not Scott, or Allison, or anyone else who was able to actually defend themselves; it was always him.

Once again, Stiles called Scott, only this time everything went even more wrong. As he pressed call, his phone's screen turned white, and right after that, it went black. A desperate "no" escaped Stiles' lips as he stared at the device in his hand. If it hadn't been useless before, it definitely was now.

The rustling behind him had gotten closer, and the closer it got, the faster Stiles' steps turned. Soon, he didn't know if he could run any faster; he was already so out of breath, his lungs hurt and his legs had turned numb. By now, the only thing that kept him going was the adrenaline flowing through his body.

Stiles had to use all the energy he had left to use from running, to keep himself up. The rugged forest with all its roots and brickbats was trying to grab his ankles and make him fall down. A shadow flew right in front of Stiles, forcing him to stop like he had reached an invisible border he couldn't cross.

The sudden stop caused him to lose his balance, and in a blink of an eye, Stiles found himself coughing on the cold, hard ground. As fast as he could, he pushed himself up again. He tried to focus on his hearing, tried to scan his surroundings as carefully as he could to find the silhouette again.

"Who are you?" he asked loudly, trying to hide the fear in his voice. He knew it was probably a mistake to speak in the first place, but it was kind of the only thing he came up with other than running. "Hello?" He slowly took a few steps back. "Could you leave me alone? I have werewolf friends, so you definitely should."

But the silhouette, whatever it was, did not leave him alone. Instead, it appeared behind him, shoving him face first on the ground again. As he laid on the ground, Stiles could hear footsteps slowly approach him. It didn't make sense. He had just been pushed, the one approaching him right now had been standing behind him just seconds ago.

A cold hand firmly grabbed him by his shoulder, forced him to turn around, and before Stiles' had the chance to see who it was, something hard hit his head and the whole world went black.

The next time Stiles opened his eyes, his head was pounding and his legs hurt so much he felt like crying. It didn't take him long to realize he was bind to a wooden chair in a cold room he didn't recognize. There was a little window on the opposite wall, but it had been nailed shut.

With no success, Stiles tried to break his hands free from the armrests. His wrists felt like they were on fire as the thick rope abraded against his skin as he desperately kept fighting to free himself.

Sudden footsteps echoing behind him glance over his shoulder. "Hello?!" It probably wasn't a good idea to speak or keep any noises at all, but he couldn't help himself. "Is anybody there?"

A quiet, cheerful humming came from behind as the footsteps approached. Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted an answer or not. Cold fingertips were gently landed against Stiles' neck, and the long fingers slowly slid into his hair, sending shivers all over his body.

"Nobody's going to find you here," a quiet voice told him as the ice cold fingers swirled his hair around and tugged gently.

"I'm lucky to have a friend with such a good nose, then," Stiles said nervously, trying to hide his fear in a short laugh.

"Oh, no no no," the voice laughed with him. The fingers slowly moved from his hair to his cheek. "Nobody is going to find you." With a serious look on his face, a man stepped forward from behind Stiles, his fingers still gently on his cheek.

As he withdrew his hand from Stiles' skin, he pulled a pair of huge, metallic pliers out of his jeans' back pocket.

"Wha-" Stiles could feel his heart beating like there was no tomorrow, and his arms tried to break free before he had the time to even think about trying to do so. "You having car trouble, buddy?" he asked with a shaky voice. "I mean, I- I can help you if you just take these ropes off."

The man slowly came closer, and no matter how hard Stiles pulled his arms or tried to kick with his legs, the ropes wouldn't snap or even loosen around his wrists and ankles. He knew screaming Scott wouldn't save him, he wouldn't probably even hear him, but doing so still felt extremely tempting.

"What are you gonna do?" Stiles heard himself whisper as the man came so close he could feel his slow breaths on his face.

With no answer, the man simply smiled before he grabbed Stiles' jaw and forced him to open his mouth. With his mind completely blank and body frozen with fear, Stiles couldn't but stare in silence and hope for the best as the man brought the pliers to his open mouth.

The man tightened his grip of Stiles to keep his head still, and leaned a little closer to whisper with a smile: "This is gonna sting a little."


	2. One wrong move, and I'll kill you all

Stiles had never experienced pain like this. Even the time when someone had hit him in the eye with a lacrosse stick during a game, or when he had fallen off their school's roof and broken his leg in elementary school hadn't hurt like this. He squeezed the armrests in his hands so hard his knuckles had turned white, and his legs were constantly trying to kick and break free from the ropes.

The man was unheavenly slowly pulling off one of Stiles' teeth, quietly humming a melody Stiles didn't recognize, with a calming smile on his lips. His fingers had drilled deep into Stiles' skin as he held his head still.

Stiles could only scream. He screamed so loud it hurt his ears, and he had screamed for so long his throat was getting sore and his voice had already faded a bit. The only thing he could do was to hope for someone from the pack to hear his pain and find him, but he was afraid the man had been right; maybe nobody would find him after all.

When Stiles least expected it, the man pulled harder, and his tooth was ripped off with a loud, disgusting sound that reminded Stiles of the sound a chicken bone had made when he had once broken it in half.

The metallic taste of blood filled Stiles' mouth before the man had even thrown the tooth on the floor with a pleased smile, and Stiles threw his head back with a shriek, having no idea what to do with the pain. He had nothing to ease it except his screams.

He had just the time to spit out the blood before the man already grabbed his jaw again, bringing the pliers to his mouth. Before Stiles' had fully internalized the fact that he was about to lose another tooth, and possibly all of them, the room's door was kicked in with a loud bang.

Stiles' heart was beating so loud it felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest, and he had never felt more scared in his life. Never. Not even when Isaac had lost it during a full moon and Scott had almost not had the time to come between them to save him.

His eyes had shut on their own, without him realizing it, and when he opened them again, the man was gone. Only the blood in his mouth and the ropes binding him to the chair were left of the horrible nightmare he had gone through.

"Hey?" a voice came from somewhere. Stiles had trouble to identify where it came from and who it belonged to; his head was swirling and all of a sudden he was feeling dizzy, to say it mildly. "You okay there, buddy?"

"No," Stiles breathed, "no, I need air." He could feel his heart rate fastening again. His chest became tight and he felt like he couldn't breathe; no matter how deep or how fast he breathed, he didn't seem to get enough air.

"I think he's having a panic attack," another voice said quietly, and Stiles hardly heard it.

"Well, do something about it!"

"We need to cut the ropes, he needs air."

The two voices were only distant mumbles Stiles barely heard under the ringing in his ears. His field of view was getting blurrier and blurrier, and he didn't notice he had been unbound from the chair until someone grabbed him from his shoulders and lifted him up.

"Can you hear me?" the voice asked, so much closer now that Stiles' heart missed a beat. He managed to nod as an answer. "Good. Listen to me. You're safe now. You're safe," the voice spoke to him calmly, and the hands held him just tight enough to keep him on his feet, "nobody's going to hurt you anymore. You're safe with us. Just take a deep breath, it's okay now."

Stiles kept nodding and tried to do as he was told to. He closed his eyes, started to count his breaths and used all his willpower to concentrate on the calm voice talking to him. Slowly his heart started to calm down, and he was finally able to actually take a deep breath.

"Better?"

Stiles kept breathing for a moment before he nodded: "Better."

"I'm gonna put you on the floor now, okay?"

Stiles nodded again. The floor felt cold under him as he sat down, and after he had sat for a few seconds, he opened his eyes again. A man with a brown, mid-long hair was crouching before him with a concerned look in his green eyes. Another man was standing a bit further away, looking around the room with some kind of a device in his hands.

"How are you feeling?" the man before him asked with a short smile.

"Better, I guess," Stiles shrugged. He still had to use a little too much of his energy to keep breathing properly.

"Good." The man smiled a little wider. "I'm Sam, and that's my brother Dean."

"Stiles."

"I'm sorry," the man on the other side of the room, apparently Dean, came a little closer, "what's your name again?"

"Stiles," Stiles repeated with a sigh. "Stiles Stilinski."

"Stiles," Sam hurried to say before Dean got the chance to say anything, "we need to ask you a few questions." Stiles nodded once again.

"First of all, how did you get here?" Dean asked, now crouched next to the chair Stiles had been sitting on before.

"I was walking home from Scott," Stiles answered with a heavy sigh. He didn't exactly feel like reliving what he had had to go through. "Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me, but I didn't see anything. I tried to call Scott, but my phone didn't work-"

"Didn't work?"

"Yeah, it went black and I couldn't use it anymore." Stiles furrowed, feeling a bit confused; did it mean something? "So, anyway, the guy came and punched me and I woke up here and he pulled my tooth off, and then you guys showed up."

"Did it get any colder when he showed up?"

"Yeah, it did, actually."

Sam turned to look at Dean, who had a meaningful look on his face. Stiles just didn't understand what it meant. "Did you smell anything weird? Sulfur?"

Stiles furrowed as he thought about it, and shook his head. "I don't remember smelling anything," he said with a shrug "But then again, my smell isn't the best in the world, so."

Sam nodded, not looking like he was exactly happy with the answer. "I think this is a pretty clear case," Dean said with a pretty bored voice.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "I think so too."

Sam helped Stiles up from the floor. He made sure Stiles could walk properly, and when everything was okay except for the missing tooth, the two men led Stiles out of the house.

The house wasn't exactly huge, but big enough not to be just a home. The white walls, tile floors and numerous doors along the long corridors reminded Stiles of an old hospital or a school.

"Are we gonna have to walk?" Stiles asked when they stepped outside and he saw no car.

"Sorry, kid," Dean said with an apologetic smile, "there was no way I was gonna drive here."

As they walked along the thin path through the thick forest, Stiles didn't have to wonder why Dean hadn't wanted to drive his car there. Stiles doubted if even his Jeep would've survived it, so a normal car definitely wouldn't have.

A loud crack came from behind them, and they all turned on their heels to see where it came from. Dean had already drawn his gun out and was now pointing at Scott with it. Scott slowly raised his hands in the air and took a step back.

"Let Stiles go," he said in a commanding tone, making Dean snort quietly.

"I think not." As Dean spoke, Sam also took out his gun and took a step closer to his brother so that Stiles had to move to stand behind them. "I think you're gonna back off."

"But Dean," Stiles said, but was cut off by Scott;

"Let him go," he ordered again, this time taking a few steps closer.

The brothers adjusted their positions so that they could aim better. "No," Dean said firmly. "Now you back off, and let us finish our job."

"Your job?"

"Yes, you're disturbing us."

"But Dean," Stiles tried again, but Dean quickly told him to shut it, so he did as he was told to. He didn't actually want to start a fight with a man holding a gun.

"You let him go," Scott said voice full of anger, " _now_."

"Or _what_ , kid?" Dean laughed. "You'll make me?"

Stiles then knew it wasn't going to end well; in fact, it was bound to end catastrophically. From what Dean and Sam had spoken together during their walk, it had become clear to Stiles that they were hunters like the Argents. And hunters and werewolves were never a good combination, and he had, unfortunately, had the chance to be there to prove it to be true.

Silent growling came from somewhere, and while Stiles had no idea where it came from, Dean immediately turned to aim in the direction the voice had come from.

Stiles turned his eyes to Scott, meeting his gaze, and shook his head. "They're okay," he said quietly, hoping Scott was listening. While Scott furrowed with a confused look on his face, the growling came closer. "They're hunters."

Scott's eyes widened at the words and his head immediately turned to the direction the growling was coming from.

In a blink of an eye, Scott had sprinted towards the source of the sound. "Isaac, no!" Stiles heard him yell right before Isaac ran from the bushes, straight towards him and the hunter brothers.

It was a matter of milliseconds when Scott rammed against Isaac, bringing them both down on the ground with a loud thump. They rolled along the bumpy ground for a moment, until Scott pinned Isaac down and ordered him to calm down.

Dean was pointing his gun at the boys, looking like he was ready to shoot at any second now. Stiles felt his hands shaking and sweating from anxiety. He had no idea how he could save the situation if it even was in his hands to save it. But if he wasn't the one to stop Dean, then who?

"Dean, don't!" Before Dean had the time to shoot, or Isaac managed to fight his way from under Scott, Stiles threw himself in front of Dean to stand between his friends and the gun.

"What?!" Dean's voice was full of anger. "Just get out of the way, Stiles! They're not just regular teens!"

"I know," Stiles said, and both of the hunter brothers were more than confused by his words.

"You know?" Sam asked with his brows raised.

"Yeah." Stiles nodded. "And they're my friends. So if it's not too much to ask, I'd like for you to not shoot them." He flashed a smile at Dean, hoping the man would lower his gun.

"They're _werewolves_ , Stiles. I've been trained to shoot them, I've always shot them, and I'll keep shooting them."

"But could you not this time?"

"No, I can't!"

"Dean wait," Sam walked up to his brother and pressed his hand on his brother's arm to tell him to lower the gun. "Maybe this time we can make an exception."

"They tried to attack us, Sam!" Dean turned to look at his brother, his eyes flaming with anger. "How can you say we shouldn't kill them?"

"The only reason Isaac almost attacked you was that we thought you had hurt Stiles." Scott had managed to calm Isaac down and was now walking slowly towards the brothers. "We only wanted to save Stiles."

" _Please_ , Dean." Stiles locked his eyes into Dean's. "They're my friends."

Dean looked like he was pondering; weighing the pros and cons of both decisions. After what seemed like forever, Dean finally lowered his gun with a deep sigh. "If they behave, I won't shoot." After that, Dean pointed his finger at Scott. "But _one_ wrong move, and I'll kill you all."


End file.
